DISCLAIMER: Don't own Frank, Gerard or Freddie Mercury. Which is probably a good thing, all things considered.

Frank squeezed his eyes shut and leant back against the bus window, trying hard to block out the voice which was the source of his growing discomfort. Ray, Bob and Mikey had left the bus, but Gerard was managing to make enough noise for the whole band put together.

“I’m burning through the sky, yeah!
Two hundred degrees,
That’s why they call me mister Fahrenheit.
I’m travelling at the speed of light,
I wanna make a supersonic man out of you…”

So sang Gerard as he swaggered aimlessly around the small sitting room of the tour bus, combing the tangles from his messy black hair. He’d been at it all day, belting out Queen songs at the top of his lungs, and it was causing some problems for Frank.

Frank just couldn’t help it. When ‘You’re My Best Friend’ had first come floating through the door from the kitchen, he’d thought bitterly of how he wished he and Gerard could be more than just best friend. When ‘Fat Bottomed Girls’ had followed, in an admittedly hilarious falsetto voice, Frank had wanted nothing more than to be a fat bottomed girl so that he might attract the attention of the gorgeous man who had come sauntering out into the sitting room with a steaming cup of coffee and an affected mincing walk that would have made Freddie himself proud. It took a real man, Frank thought, to tear around the touring bus in a full-scale imitation of one of music’s gayest icons.

By now he’d been treated to a full recital of nearly every song Queen had ever released, and it was filling Frank’s head (and groin) with the most inappropriate ideas. Now Gerard had gone off into ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’, and Frank didn’t think he could bear it anymore.

“I am a satellite, I’m out of control,
I am a sex machine ready to reload,
Like an atom bomb ready to
Oh, oh, oh, explode…”

Trilled Gerard, who was on his feet poncing around the room to work off his pent-up energy from having been on the road all day. One simply couldn’t help but ponce when one was busy trying to imitate Freddie Mercury’s voice, and Gerard was doing a disturbingly good job of it. Watching Gerard’s hips sway, Frank’s trousers were becoming painfully tight. He decided it was high time he left the room, before he did something seriously inappropriate.

In his haste to escape the room, he nearly bowled into Gerard as he made for the door. He missed him, but the physical proximity proved too much for Frank’s over-wrought, erotically channelled mind.

“Don’t stop me now, I’m having such a good-“

Gerard found his voice cut off abruptly as Frank’s mouth collided with his and the shorter man slammed him against the wall. Frank seized a handful of the singer’s shirt and kissed him forcefully with all the pent-up passion of the day that he could no longer bear to contain. When he pulled away, Gerard’s mouth remained wide open as he gaped at Frank.

“What…” he spluttered, unable to form a coherent sentence. Had that really just happened?

Frank just responded by kissing him again. And this time Gerard reciprocated, with an astonishing burst of passion. Frank was taken aback at his friend’s sudden eagerness, but he wasn’t complaining. Questions could wait until later. Fireworks exploded in front of his eyes as he led Gerard into the bunkroom and, feeling more than a little surreal, began making his long-time fantasies come true.

Half an hour later Frank and Gerard lay side by side in the bottom bunk, panting and utterly spent. Gerard turned his head to stare incredulously at Frank.

“What the hell just happened?” He asked he asked breathlessly. “Since when were you a fucking fairy?”

“I could ask the same about you,” said Frank, laughing in spite of himself. “I guess it was just your Freddie Mercury impressions that did it.”

Gerard smirked and lay back against the pillow. For a short while they both sat in comfortable silence. Until…